


Of Midnight Roses and Garlic Cloves

by elzierav



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Clover with glasses, Gift Fic, M/M, Vampires, fair game, scientist Clover, the kids are matchmaking heathens, those dorks are in love, vampire Qrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzierav/pseuds/elzierav
Summary: An esteemed expert of the creatures of the night, Dr. Clover Ebi is on the search for a rare, dangerous vampiric specimen. But everything is not as it seems, especially when a handsome vampire throws a random spoon at him.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 45





	Of Midnight Roses and Garlic Cloves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TesseractTown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TesseractTown/gifts).



> Happy birthday Kyra! Hope you enjoy some vampire shenanigans!
> 
> Thanks to [SykoShadowRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SykoShadowRose/pseuds/SykoShadowRose) and [AndyAstral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndyAstral) for helping me find a title for this. 
> 
> Warnings: blood (duh), non-graphic nudity, garlic

_ October 12th, 1877 _

_ The inn is remote and hard to locate, and I can only thank my good fortune for arriving before sundown. A tempest has risen, concealing the nearly full moon in the sky and unleashing heavy rain, rendering searching for any traces of the specimen impossible. Kingfisher is unharmed but exhausted after days of travel and too terrified by the currently unfurled lightning to properly rest. I will therefore have to wait several days here for my steed to recover its forces before I can travel again, if need be.  _

_ All I was able to retrieve was a shred of blood-red cloth on the brambles in the forest, just before the rain began to fall (cloth fragment stapled hereafter on the next page of this diary). Judging by the villagers’ apprehensive reaction at the sight of the cloth, it is likely that it bears some connection to the specimen I am searching for. I am determined to elucidate the nature of this connection tomorrow at dawn. Should Lady Luck be on my side, the creature may have left fresh footprints on the wet mud during the storm, footprints that will not yet be soiled by the footsteps of villagers and their animals. In addition, if I were to witness footprints of the victims of the creature I am searching for, they may well be indicative as to  _

“What happened to your sleeves?”

The young girl’s voice thundered into his ears over the backdrop of the tempest outside, drawing Clover from his meticulous journal-writing task. 

“Me. I happened to my sleeves,” he answered absentmindedly, adjusting his gold-rimmed spectacles on the edge of his nose as he turned up to stare at her. 

Rebellious locks of rusty hair escaped her maid bonnet, the embroidered white trimming of which matched the frills around her worn-out apron. Her turquoise eyes turned away from the ivory silk of his shirt roughly ripped at his shoulders, where his sleeves once were, to peer down inquisitively into his notebook, rather too close for his comfort. 

“That question is hardly polite, Nora, and you’re interrupting our patron’s work,” a male, equally youthful voice called out from the inn’s kitchen. “Please forgive her, Dr. Ebi.”

“You are entirely forgiven, young lady. I was nearly done with my note-taking anyway.”

_ they may well be indicative as to what kind of specimen I am pursuing and how much danger it may truly pose. _

He set down his pencil on the inn’s wooden dinner table after scribbling down the end of his sentence in neat cursive letters. 

“I am always delighted to see young people interested in the works of a man of science,” he said. “It is heartwarming to help inspire children these days to join the next generation of scientists waiting in the wings.”

“Heard that, Ren?” Nora chimed in cheerfully. “I’m going to be a woman of science!”

“Women of science are unheard of,” Ren sighed, “Besides, the broth is ready.”

The redheaded maid raced to the kitchen with a bounce in her step, promptly returning with a steaming bowl for Clover and a weathered-looking silver spoon. 

“Thank you, miss Nora, the scent is divine,” the scientist hummed, deeply inhaling the scalding fumes that swirled up through the humid air. 

As the condensation subsided from his thin-framed glasses, the delicate tinge of the finely sliced Southern vegetables and herbs remained exotic and unfamiliar to Clover’s nostrils, even after weeks travelling in the forests surrounding Vale, for warmer climates foster way greater diversities of fruit and vegetation than the cold, barren lands of his native Atlas, some of which he hadn’t had the chance to taste yet.

“It’s that women of science don’t exist,” a new voice commented just as he took a careful sip of the boiling soup. “It’s just that Miss Nora Valkyrie is too dumb to become one.”

Another maid stepped into the room, clad in the same outfit as the redhead. Her silky white ponytail regally swung behind her back as she approached Dr. Ebi’s seat to set down a pitcher of cold water on his table.

“Don’t mind Weiss,” Nora teased toward Clover, leaning onto her coworker’s shoulder. “She’s in her rebellious teenage phase after escaping her ratbag of a father, and thinks everyone is beneath her.”

“Hey! I was just being honest!” the white-haired girl protested, brushing Nora off her side and causing the other girl to lose her balance and nearly tumble onto Clover’s burning broth.

“I am certain Miss Valkyrie could be a suitable woman of science, if she so desires,” he said cordially, wiping his glasses and his hand insistently after having finished his soup, after which he tucked his lace-trimmed kerchief marked with a four-leafed clover into the breast pocket of his dark green waistcoat. 

“And me? Can I be a woman of science too?” Yet another youth prompted, rushing in from the door.

Weiss tilted her head, eyes narrowed in hesitation, while the man of science was left to wonder how the newcomer overheard the conversation from outside over the chaos of the raging storm and the frantically neighing horses in the stables. But what attracted Clover’s eyes was the cloak draped over the shoulders of the girl who’d just arrived. Though soaked and darkened by the rain, the crimson fabric appeared far from dissimilar to the shred he’d pinned in his diary. He quickly flipped to the relevant page by comparison - but before he could gaze any further, a tall maid with bright golden locks of hair raced down the stairs and wrapped the red-clad girl in a tight embrace, ignoring her drenched state. 

“Ruby!” the blonde exclaimed, spinning the smaller teenager around in the air.

“Strawberries!” Nora cried out, immediately rushing toward the basket Ruby carried. 

She folded back the pattern fabric that covered the wicker container, revealing the ripe crimson fruit inside. Even Ren emerged from the kitchens to inspect the strawberries, and as he sorted through the contents of Ruby’s basket and bags full of plants and spices, all different shades from mint green to soft saffron, Clover deduced she must have been back from a nearby town market.

“Of course, sis, you’ll be the greatest woman of science who’d ever lived,” the tallest of the women said, delivering a clap on Ruby’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Yang,” the girl in red answered. ”So, Mr Scientist...”

“Doctor, not Mister,” Weiss rectified sharply.

“Dr Scientist...”

“Dr. Ebi, at your service,” Clover cut in with a small bow.

“Dr. Ebi, what are you researching? My father is also a researcher and an explorer, and so was my uncle - ”

“Ruby! Won’t you... let him answer your own question?” Ren interrupted somewhat abruptly, pensively sniffing at some rosemary.

Clover’s fingers were rummaging through his diary in search for sketches he could show the teenagers, before stumbling upon the page carrying the red fabric again. 

“And could you also wipe your filthy boots and not drip everywhere on the floors we just cleaned?” Weiss reprimanded further.

And with a swift, yet not disgraceful gesture, she yanked the drenched cape off Ruby and shoved it into the wood-burning stove. Clover arched a perplexed eyebrow - while the water from the soaked garment could indeed cause damage to the wooden floor, the scientist doubted that a wet cape would do much good to the ongoing fire. The girl underneath the garment, however, appeared wet but inoffensive, messy dark hair with sparse copper tints framing a pale face with candid colourless eyes, even though in the warm light of the stove they shone with glimmers of silver...

“Perhaps you all could help with my current research...” he prompted cautiously, adjusting his spectacles on his nose again. “I’ve travelled to these remote parts in search of a creature legend and folktales call a sunwalker… a singularly powerful and feared vampire, immune to sunlight, able to mingle around the villagers it feeds off of in broad daylight. It’s possible it may also be resistant to other artefacts that usually harm vampires, like garlic or crucifixes.”

“Crucifixes? Is that the plural or crucifix? That doesn’t sound right...” Nora rubbed her chin in puzzlement. 

“Unfortunately, that is the correct plural,” Weiss confirmed, nervously fidgeting with her own cross around her neck.

“Has anyone witnessed a creature like this recently?” Clover continued. “Or heard of unexplained attacks compatible with a creature that matches that description?”

“No…” Ruby shook her head. “I mean maybe. Why are you looking for it?”

“My current hypothesis is that it is the product of a hybridisation. Perhaps even a were or half-were who was bitten by a vampire. I wish to verify this hypothesis and report to the Atlesian Royal Academy of Science.”

“There is always the abandoned manor in the forest,” the blonde pointed out, a sudden light in her violet eyes. 

“Yang’s right, it’s an hour from here on foot,” Ren added, “due west.”

“Oh, it’s definitely haunted,” Nora assured. “Better be well-equipped with holy water, and y’know, stay hydrated if you go there.”

“Wouldn’t good hydration make one’s blood more appealing to the vampire living there?” Weiss wondered.

“So you are all positive that there is a vampire living there?” Dr. Ebi echoed, drawing his diary again. “Have any of you ever seen it? What does it look like?”

“The usual for vampires,” Ren shrugged. “Flawless pale skin, silky raven hair, tall, handsome features, legs for miles, tall, sharp teeth...”

“I think you forgot tall,” Nora interrupted.

“And fang-tastic skincare routine,” Yang added.

“... Nothing out of the ordinary that could signal a hybrid?” Clover scanned through his notes, clearing his throat. “When I asked the villagers in Shion, they mentioned a red cape… and silver eyes?”

“Silver eyes?” Weiss repeated slowly, leaning over the doctor’s shoulder as he showed some rough sketches he’d produced down the margin of his notebook to match the villagers’ description. “Are you sure? All eyes would look silver with these pencil and charcoal sketches.”

As the white-haired girl crowded his field of vision, he caught Ruby darting at high speed toward a corner of the room, where a black-haired young woman sat reading a book. She’d been so quiet the scientist hadn’t even noticed her since he entered the inn. But as Ruby whispered into her ear in what appeared to be a continuous blurt of precipitant syllables, the girl spoke slowly, in a low, ominous tone that would send chills deep down anyone’s very bones.

“The vampire prince of the black manor doesn’t have silver eyes. His eyes are as red as the blood in your veins after he’s fed, as red as crimson roses before the storm.”

Clover had heard his share of scary tales through his career as an occult creature expert, such that her mysterious message hardly terrified him, even punctuated by the conveniently booming thunder outside. Instead, a wave of wariness washed over him, and checking his pocket watch attached to his waistcoat with a small golden chain, he wondered if the inn’s beds were as comfortable as Ren’s soup was delicious. He may as well go verify this hypothesis as soon as possible.

On the morrow, a long day awaited him.

* * *

_ October 13th, 1877 _

_ I scanned the perimeter for unusual footprints, human, or animal remains, without finding anything outside of the ordinary. I started journeying toward the black manor the teenagers had mentioned, but Mr. Arc found me and stopped me, requesting my advice concerning Kingfisher’s limping back leg. While I am no expert in stallions, my previous work on centaurs did prove useful, such that I, Mr. Arc, who is responsible for the stables, and Mr. Pine, who takes care of the rest of the farm animals, spent our morning diagnosing the damage done and preparing an onguent for Kingfisher’s knee. Mr. Pine and Mr. Arc did good work, and I am confident my steed will recover rapidly. I will have to thank my esteemed colleague, Dr. Polendina, back in Atlas for providing me with such a miraculous medicinal recipe.  _

_ In the late morning, new visitors came into the inn. A woman and a man rented one of the rooms, the man appears to be a businessman judging by his hat and the woman seems to speak little, if at all. I asked them about the sunwalker, with little success - they are most likely only passing through here without knowing much about this region.  _

_ However, another visitor caught my attention. Dr. Oobleck introduced himself as a colleague of Prof. Ozpin in Vale, whose reputation in my field I am quite familiar with. Dr. Oobleck has also been working on the sunwalker, amongst other projects, but he left early after lunch, pretexting the full moon was coming up tonight and the forest wasn’t safe. Though conflicts between vampires and werewolf packs are far from unheard of, I did not find any pawprints or marks from oversized claws anywhere in the surrounding area, and must therefore deduce that the risk of werewolf attacks around here is low to nonexistent, even on a full moon.  _

_ If I go out tonight in search of the sunwalker, I may find it before our competitors of the Royal Society of Vale do - Prof. Ironwood of the Atlesian Academy would be delighted.  _

_ Right before I started writing this journal entry, I visited the nearest church to restock my holy water, wooden cross, and wooden stake supplies. Though Father Winchester appears quite critical of my research and hypotheses, he did provide me with the necessary materials, apparently aware of the gravity of the situation at stake (no pun intended). I am wondering if he is also conspiring with the teenagers at the inn. There is a considerable probability they are hiding something from me, but I did see the manor in the distance and can confirm it is not a lie. I think there must be at least some evidence there, so I may as well investigate it tonight. The abundant lighting due to the full moon will be on my side anyway.  _

_ The inhabitants of the inn were quite apprehensive of my project of heading out tonight, but at least the quiet woman kindly lent me an umbrella against the light rain.  _

It wasn’t as stormy as the night before, but sparse drops still filtered through the lush darkness of the forest, awakening rich earthy scents that wafted through the eerily humid air. Umbrella in one hand, oil lantern in the other, Clover treaded carefully through the narrow path that slithered sinuously through the undergrowth of treacherously sharp brambles, his heavy boots rustling the mud-covered leaves at each of his steps. 

A quiet breeze howled through the high branches overhead, and somewhere in the distance a wolf responded in kind - but the doctor’s experienced ears recognised a common canine, with no weres involved. Shivering slightly, he started to regret the unfortunate sleeveless situation of his shirt - the oil lamp provided him with some meagre heat, but the humid cold seeped deeply through his skin, eliciting a tremor that rippled across his body from the top of his hair to the tip of his toenails. Tonight’s moonlight, drifting through the clouds and the tree canopy, shone strangely blue, strangely devoid of even the slightest shade of reassuring warmth.

Soon, the manor came into view, its ominous towers raised like skeletal fingers pointed at the rotund moon. Before Clover stood a wrought iron gate bearing a strange winged crest below what appeared like a stylised cursive B - it was locked, and only responded with a bone-chilling squeak when the man of science attempted to push it. Sensing the flaky paint and the rusty patches under his gloved fingers, he climbed the gate with relative ease - he prided himself in maintaining his Greek god physique for occasions like this, when his professional occupation called for it. His heartbeat drummed softly as he reached the top and leapt down, landing on the grassy ground on the other side.

Between him and the manor door spread a parterre of brambles, even though they may have been roses, which would make sense given the kids’ description. All the same, the bushes were unkempt and overgrown, rendering Clover’s navigation toward the manor all the more lengthy and difficult. While his boots protected most of his skin, he arrived before the door lightly panting, arms wary after having to hold his umbrella high above his head to avoid his bare arms being scratched. After all, any drop of blood could provoke an adverse reaction in the vampire he was about to encounter. 

The door-knocker was a simple iron ring held within the beak of a metal crow head. The corvid’s dead eyes gazed at him disapprovingly as he approached his hand, and he sucked in a deep breath before knocking. The sound propagated through the wood and walls, and promptly the clatter of footsteps resonated on the other side, and a small panel within the door at the level of Clover’s face swiveled open, revealing a pair of crimson eyes. 

Red like roses before the storm… Dr. Ebi had seen vampire eyes before, but these were a peculiar shade, soft as wine, yet sharp as broken glass, with that contained irate glare that did remind him of the calm before the tempest, he contemplated dreamily, before a raspy voice interrupted his thoughts. 

“Yes?”

“I am in search of the lord of this palace,” he answered cordially in his most practised voice. “I am a gentleman scientist, I just wish to discuss peacefully. I have been told my blood tastes awful.”

“Are you hydrated, at least?”

That was a strange question, but he remembered the teenagers mentioning something similar. 

“I am, but a cup of warm tea would be very welcome while we talk...”

The door opened suddenly before Clover, and he could discern a slender silhouette in the door frame with some difficulty due to the darkness inside. Red eyes quickly travelled down his frame, pausing for an instant… at his crotch? The doctor only realised the vampire was considering the wooden stakes hanging at Clover’s belt a second later, when the manor’s dweller uttered:

“Fuck off.”

And slammed the door closed. 

Falling shut, the heavy object projected a sudden gust of wind that sent Clover’s umbrella flying backward into the thorny bushes. He scrambled to retrieve it, praying it wouldn’t be damaged by the time he returned it to the lovely lady who’d lent it. But just his luck, the clouds parted to reveal the moon in its pallid entirety. Struck by stupor, he barely even had time to gasp before a scalding shiver raced down his spine. 

And his time, it wasn’t just his sleeves that were ruined. 

As the transformation occurred, he had no way to shield himself from the moonlight and prevent its course. Each vein, each artery of his body felt dilated tenfold as his body expanded, ripping his clothing to shreds in the process. As per usual every time he transformed, the first thing he noticed after the metamorphosis was completed was the sounds - to his wolf ears, everything was sharp, precise, the way each branch crackled and whistled in the wind, the way flocks of birds took flight in the distance, even the heartbeat of a baby vole at the other side of the clearing caressed his eardrum with alluring appeal. And the distinct lack of heartbeat of the vampire who stood on the other side of the door, every particle of his scent screaming apex predator, screaming natural enemy of the werewolves, screaming enemy to eliminate. Now. 

A single swipe of his powerful paw sent the door flying off its hinges, crashing into a stone wall and shattering into a myriad of splinters. A feral growl escaped Clover’s throat as he sprang forward, aiming at the vampire whose head barely reached the middle of his abdomen when he stood on his hind legs in his wolf form. Now inside and shielded from the moonlight, he knew he could garner enough control to shift back to his human body, but he could sense the vampire already responding to the same hormonal instincts and charging at the intruder who’d destroyed his door, a snarl on his thin-pressed red lips.

The canine’s blows proved more destructive, knocking over an empty suit of armour as he punched, cracking the marble of the hallway’s grand staircase as he kicked. Dr. Ebi had planned on using his werewolf strength as an advantage to contend with the vampire, especially if the holy water proved inefficient against a sunwalker. But the vampire moved faster, dodging most attacks and barely blocking a sweeping paw for a short instant, just enough time to redirect its momentum into the nearest wall and push his own weight past his opponent on the slippery marble floor. Roaring with frustration, Clover raised a strong knee, colliding with his adversary’s sternum and sending him flying into the wall. 

Under the impact, one of the stern painted portraits hanging between the tapestries dropping toward the floor. Using his superhuman reflexes, the vampire caught the picture in mid-air and raised it as a shield, deflecting deadly canine jaws that merely ripped through the canvas without damaging their target. Then, the smaller opponent tossed the golden frame into the air with deceptive strength given his wiry musculature, causing one of the heavy crystal chandeliers on the ceiling to plummet between the two fighters in a deafening crash. Clover avoided the falling object easily, but it provided an ideal opportunity for his enemy to escape, climbing up the stairs of his own manor’s hallway.

The were scientist followed suit, clumsily as his paws slid against the marble, but fast enough to keep pace as each of his powerful strides bounced over a half-dozen steps, three times more than what the vampire could achieve even with his infamous legs for miles. The two adversaries wasted no time in reaching a long, deserted dining room whose wooden floors were covered with a thick carpet somewhat muffling the sound of their footsteps. A hard glint twinkling in his teal eyes, the werewolf sharply tugged the rug from under his opponent’s feet with his paws, causing the vampire to topple over. 

Attempting with little success to break his fall by leaning onto the dinner table, the raven-haired pulled down a corner of the tablecloth with him. Porcelain and silverware tumbled to the floor around him, and rapidly, so rapidly that the wolf’s eyes could barely detect it, the vampire seized a shiny object on the ground and flung it toward his enemy. The wolf jumped back - alas, too late, not before sharp pain shot into existence at his left forepaw. The burn spread through his skin and muscle, eliciting a howl of pure pain as he slid down into a furry heap of limbs onto the carpet. 

It was silverware. Literally silver silverware. 

He could feel the poison spread through his bloodstream already, his sight blurring and turning to shades of red. He blinked painfully for long seconds before recognising the silver projectile that had been thrown his way, fallen at his side in a small puddle of blood. 

It was a spoon. A dainty silver soup spoon with ornate swirls on the handle. But a spoon nonetheless. 

As his wolf body writhed and contorted in searing pain, his scientist mind still analysed the situation, possibilities and probabilities spiralling out in unison. The vampire probably could have thrown a knife and dealt considerably more damage. Or even a fork, those had pointier ends. He could have taken advantage of his enemy’s silver-laced wound to move in and land a finishing blow. But he didn’t. 

The vampire was acting out of self-defense, not to kill. He was holding back his instincts, letting his humanity shine through. 

And so could Clover. Drawing a deep breath, he reverted to his human form, revealing himself vulnerable and hurt in front of the manor dweller. His torn garments, holy water bullet-loaded pistol, wooden stakes were left on the lawn where he had first transformed, such that all he could do was curl up on the carpet, as naked as the day he was born. After a beat, he dragged the white tablecloth down to cover his private parts from incredulous, but slightly amused crimson eyes. 

“I apologise for what happened,” Clover mumbled, “it was extremely unfortunate. In this form, you could easily kill me if you wanted, so please take this as a sign of trust. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to talk. Please, trust me.”

“Tch, not like you can do me much harm all curled up like this, can you?” the vampire teased back, trailing the lines of the scientist’s shivering form through the tablecloth. “Mind if I have a look?”

In his hurt state, it took Dr. Ebi several seconds to understand the palace dweller referred to his poisoned wound, and not… something else. 

“Well shit,” the ashen-haired muttered, “it looks like the poisoning is still spreading.”

Red eyes worriedly traced the dark silvery lines that signalled the silver travelling down the web of Clover’s bloodstream. 

“Trust me to suck it off?”

The scientist blinked quizzically, hazily considering the unusual proposal and its implications.

“I can suck out the poisoned blood and stop straight after,” the vampire explained. “I won’t inject any venom, I promise. I don’t want a screaming and kicking mid-transformation wolf-vampire abomination dying in my dining room. It’d gross the kids out when they come to visit.”

“Yes. Please go ahead.”

Clover repressed a tremor when icy lips touched the damaged skin of his bicep, applying gentle pressure before a soft sound of suction made its way to his ears. 

“You do taste disgusting,” his saviour paused to comment. 

“I did warn you.”

It was well-known within Dr. Ebi’s field that werewolves, and canines in general, tasted awful to vampires, such that the manor-dweller’s remark hardly came as a surprise.

“If your offer for tea still stands, at least I can stay hydrated,” Clover quipped weakly.

“I never offered tea, despite you so impolitely demanding it. You’re delirious, it must be the effect of my saliva kicking in.”

Clover offered a half-hearted effort to nod in agreement, while the anesthetic component of the vampire’s drool mingled into his bloodstream, designed to keep victims subdued while the bloodsuckers fed. Already, his limbs found themselves swimming among clouds, even the sensation of pain fading away, replaced by a million pins and needles. Slowly, his mind turned foggy, which perhaps justified why his last thoughts before succumbing to a deep slumber were wondering how it would feel if those agile lips trailed up his bicep, around his shoulder, along the strong column of his neck to reach the skin of his cheek and…

* * *

_ October 15th, 1877 _

_ I believe I have remained unconscious for two days, judging by the current state of my facial hair and hunger. The vampire, or should I write, my host, has bandaged the wound on my forearm, and though the pain still laces me, I am now able to think and write coherently, or at least I hope so. I am fortunate on this occasion to be right-handed.  _

_ I woke up in one of the palace chambers and found this diary on the bedside table. I have walked around the corridors of the palace, which are entirely empty. This leads me to believing the manor has no servants or other inhabitants than the vampire, my host now, who must have been the one to bandage my wound while I was unconscious, as well as carry me to a bed, provide me clothing, and retrieve my diary. I found the vampire’s coffin in the attic, but did not open it. Atop lay the note that can be found below.  _

_ ~ _

_ Dear Dr. Ebi.  _

_ Glad to see you’re awake. Not to actually see you, but you get the idea. Sorry for checking your name in the diary I found on my front lawn. I didn’t pry or read further, don’t worry. No need for you to open this coffin, I’m sleeping inside, in case you’re wondering, which I’m sure you are, you nosey stranger. Now that you know for sure, please don’t disturb. You wouldn’t like it if someone came to your bed and looked under the covers when you’re asleep, would you? _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Qrow _

_ ~ _

_ On the next page I wrote a note in response to my host’s, which I will tear out of this notebook afterwards.  _

_ ~ _

_ Dear Qrow,  _

_ Thank you for your kind message and your hospitality. I am immensely grateful for your tending to my injury. It appears to be healing at a rapid pace thanks to your intervention. However, I foresee I may need ample rest in order to suitably recover, so since you have a nocturnal lifestyle I will most likely be asleep by the time you wake. I did not open your coffin, but feel free to pry further through my journal if you find yourself bored. The vast majority of its contents relate to my search for a sunwalker vampire, which I believe you know more about than I do, and about which I wished to talk to you in the first place.  _

_ Your nosey stranger,  _

_ Clover _

_ ~ _

The man of science almost added in his diary that he found the note left by Qrow - so that was his name, strange and exotic, yet surprisingly fitting - rather adorable. But he promptly changed his mind, recalling he had allowed his host to read through his notes, after all. 

* * *

_ October 16th, 1877 _

_ I retrieved my medical supplies and was able to inspect my wound. Most signs of silver poisoning are gone, and I was able to clean out any remains of infection myself. The amount of silver was small enough for the process not to be life-threatening, but to work on my own arm required enough meticulousness to prove extenuating. I will need plenty of rest after this. _

“Good evening?” Qrow greeted tentatively.

“Please come in. Good evening,” the scientist replied, ushering his host in with a small wave of his hand. “Don’t worry, you didn’t wake me. I was just resting with my eyes closed, not sleeping.”

“You’re rather nocturnal for a werewolf a few days after a full moon,” his host commented, drawing a chair to sit beside the bed.

“My occupation entails a nocturnal schedule. I am a man of science, I specialise in creatures of the night. I don’t believe I introduced myself, by the way. Dr. Clover Ebi, delighted to meet you.”

“Lord Qrow Branwen. The pleasure’s all mine.”

Their hands met for a brief handshake, and the academic froze for an instant at the contact of those chill fingers, of that soft, flawless skin that couldn’t form calluses, of those long, slender yet strong digits firmly tugging his hand…

“So what was it you were quite literally dying to ask me about?”

“I wasn’t dying. The injury was small enough and away from any vital organs, and the poisoning was superficial enough...”

“Still, you might have lost that pretty arm, if I hadn’t sucked the silver out. So what’s that information you want to know that almost cost you an arm?”

“What do you know of the sunwalker? Rumour has it that a vampire resistant to sunlight...”

“Oh. My niece.”

The cogs and gears in Clover’s brain revolved for several seconds before everything clicked into place. 

“Your niece, Ruby.”

“So you’ve met her.”

“I...”

“Oh no. The kids did it again, didn’t they.”

It didn’t even sound like a question. Qrow’s previously confident, teasing eyes now stared down bashfully at the tip of his shoes, and Clover wished he knew what had caused such change.

“Pardon?”

“Ruby, her sister, and her friends. They set us up. On a romantic encounter of sorts. They kept sending me people throughout the years, travellers that happen to pass by. Mostly, only the explorers and scientists dare to make their way here...”

“Their warnings about the manor could have been dissuasive...”

“Add a sprinkle of danger and mystery to be sure to lure in only the bravest adventurers, as they put it,” the vampire snapped back, his voice saturated with bitterness. “They’ve got it all covered, you know. They’re absolutely convinced they can find a suitable partner for their lonely, pathetic bloodsucking uncle who lives alone in the forest and who needs to rely on a gaggle of kids to set him up with people because no one would want a weakly old bloody -”

“Qrow. That’s absolutely not true. Please stop. You are a formidable fighter, believe me for I’ve met many vampires as a part of my line of work. A formidable fighter, as well as a tolerant and generous host. Your kindness, your belief that there is good in others doesn’t make you weak.”

“Did they also pay you to flatter me, this time around? Did they bribe you with soup? With strawberries?”

Every syllable pouring out of Qrow’s lips was more salty and more scalding than boiling blood. Every syllable sounded like it hurt.

“They… I...”

“You know what? Don’t tire yourself finding excuses. I… I need some time.”

His cape trailing behind him, highlighting his svelte frame and elegant gait, Qrow exited the room as quietly as he’d entered.

* * *

_ October 17th, 1877 _

“Are you writing? Am I disturbing you?”

“No. Just writing down the date and… thinking,” Clover replied.

Too many thoughts, merging, coalescing, departing again like flocks of birds colliding while their individual avians never touched. 

“I came to apologise for yesterday. It was egotistical of me to storm out like that in a fit of self-deprecating rage.”

“It’s fine. It was very self-deprecating of you, but it’s fine for me. I just wish it were more fine for you, too. The whole … situation we find ourselves in, I mean.”

Qrow took a deep breath before speaking, the soft velvet of his brown waistcoat lifting as he did so. 

“I hope my answer to your question from yesterday can serve as a satisfactory apology. My niece, Ruby, is the daughter of a werewolf, Tai, my brother in law. But her mother, Summer… her mother is something else. Something very ancient, and even more rare.”

“I thought that would be the case. If Summer were a human being, the process of being bitten by a vampire and the transformation following the venom transfer would probably have been lethal to her daughter as a werewolf. But what species is Summer?”

“She doesn’t know it herself. She fell from the sky like a meteor and crashed landed onto the lands of Tai’s pack a century ago. When she awoke, she had no recollection of her past.”

“A fallen angel?”

“Perhaps. Summer can fully pass as human and is very busy with her human life as such, but you can ask her next time she visits.”

Clover scribbled quickly onto his notebook as the vampire spoke, the pencil lead frantically scratching the paper.

“So when you bit Ruby, not only did she survive, but she became something else...” he murmured, deep in thought.

“How did you...”

“Know you were the one to bite her? My previous studies suggest genetic material can be transferred upon venom injection. And she does look like you, despite not being a blood relative.”

“I bit her because I had to. A wolf pack, enemy to Tai’s, would have killed her if not. They were afraid of what she was… of what she is, I guess. Of her mixed blood. They’d taken both Ruby and Yang. Yang was old enough to shift to her wolf shape, so she wasn’t defenseless, at least for a short while. Ruby on the other hand… by the time I found the two of them, she was so badly hurt that the only way I had to save her life was to try to turn her. Even if my venom may have killed her.”

“You made the right choice. Not only you saved her, but you made her stronger.”

“I couldn’t have known that at the time.”

At loss for words, the scientist reached out a hand, grasping his host’s fingers in reassurance. But Qrow only let himself be held for a fraction of a second of pure surprise, before precipitately withdrawing from the touch like a wounded bird. 

“I’ve noticed she lives amongst humans,” Clover changed the topic. “Does she grow at an average human rate?”

“Mostly, perhaps a little slower. But that may change as she ages, as far as we know.”

A nearly imperceptible quiver shook his last words - and Dr. Ebi realised they had no idea if Ruby was immortal in her unique form, or if she’d condemned her parents and uncle to outlive her, since they knew they’d live forever…

“And… she drinks blood?” the doctor asked tentatively.

“She can, and she does. She terrorised a whole village while losing control and going on a rampage, when she was younger,” Qrow recalled with a fond chuckle.

“Shion. The villagers told me.”

“But she can also consume human food, though she doesn’t find it anywhere near as tasty.”

“Oh. And in the sunlight, does she...”

“Sparkle? Nope. Fuck no. Where do you think we are? In Twilight?”

_ Note to self: verify what is meant by the denomination ‘twilight’. It could be a folk tale related to vampirism that I am not aware of, which would be useful to add to the Atlesian Royal archives.  _

* * *

_ October 18th, 1877 _

_ While I am still recovering from my wound, but able to work near-optimally as a scientist, Qrow and I have reached a mutual agreement. I am to live in his manor and benefit from his hospitality. When Ruby, Yang, Taiyang, or Summer are to visit Qrow, I will be allowed to ask them questions and investigate them from a biological standpoint, within the limits of comfort and courtesy. In exchange, I am to help maintain the estate in proper condition, particularly with tasks that require being done by daylight, including making short trips for purchases in nearby markets, as much as my health allows.  _

_ My most urgent purchases consist of nourishment and garments for myself. I would be infinitely more comfortable in something tailored for my size rather than borrowed from Qrow, and in my personal opinion my fashion style is ever so slightly more jovial than his. His hunting has been rather satisfactory, but buying some vegetables I could grow would be useful for a balanced diet as well as contribute to making the manor gardens more civilised. _

_ In addition, I am also allowed to investigate Qrow himself from a biological standpoint. This is in exchange to my ‘cordial company’, I quote. I believe that Qrow’s loneliness is a factor that draws him to tolerate my presence under his roof, and that I am befriending a grizzled, touch-starved vampire with a knack for alliterations. I am to study his supernatural abilities including speed, strength, and agility as well as habits comprising feeding and relationship with other vampires and humanoid species. _

_ Not that I don’t already know my fair share about vampires, but investigating a new specimen always highlights the diversity of traits between different individuals, providing me with the sorely needed reminder that each vampire is its own person, much like each human, rather than a faceless member of a statistical population characterised by a mean and a standard deviation.  _

_ Qrow, in particular, has graying hair at his temples, which I ignore whether he had during his human life. His own memory of his human life is patchy, and he believes that both he and his twin sister Raven were turned into vampires while young. But perhaps he had been through enough hardship through those short years for his hair to turn gray. If this is the case, then I wish his second life as an immortal will be happier than his first life as a mortal. When prompted on the question, Qrow has not been able to determine if he has indeed grown more gray hair after becoming a vampire, since he cannot see his own reflection in a mirror and how it has changed throughout the years. Only time will tell. I wish I could stay forever (I could, unless the Royal Society calls me back to Atlas). _

_ His strands of silver hair, in my opinion, highlight the blackness of his charcoal hair, adding an air of wisdom to his narrow face. His features are extremely even and proportionate, which is commonly found amongst vampires, and it would be impossible for me to objectively judge if he is more aesthetically pleasing than others of his species. His eyes, however, are an unusual shade of red I believe I have never witnessed before. They are relatively pale, drawing toward pink _

“My eyes are not pink,” the vampire pouted in protest. “They are the colour of the blood of my enemies who dare think they can cross my path with impunity.”

_ They are relatively pale, drawing toward  _ _ pink  _ _ the colour of the blood of his enemies who dare think they can cross his path with impunity. They have the softness of rose buds and the sharpness of rose thorns. Next time I visit the market, I must attempt to find roses of this unique shade for the garden. _

_ Today Qrow has agreed to performing a series of strength experiments shirtless with me. It still bewilders me how such a lean, albeit defined, musculature can output such large amounts of force. My hypothesis is that his muscular fibers are more numerous, tougher, and more elastic than those of the regular human, but all I can do is measure the bulging of his muscles upon lifting a known weight I give to him. I will send the results to my consorts who are experts in biomechanics back in Atlas, hopefully they will be able to elucidate whether the hypothesis can account for my observations. _

_ As an aside, it helps the readability of my measurements that Qrow’s skin is all flawless alabaster, the candlelight highlighting each curve and each angle and their ideal proportions, optimised for hunting, killing, and all other activities that require both the exertion of force and precise control, some of which are too improper to be listed in this journal,  _ _ others of which may include cuddling _ _.  _

_ Note to self: I regret researching ‘twilight’ and I regret it was ever added to any archive of an _

Clover suddenly dropped his pencil at the onslaught of icy, playful lips dropping a brief, but firm kiss along his jawline.

“What are you doing?” he uttered in surprise, turning to the vampiric subject of his investigations.

“An experiment of my own,” Qrow smirked.

The doctor gulped audibly before asking:

“Do the results match your hypothesis?”

“I’d need to collect more data.”

The scientist inhaled sharply as a collection of cold kisses was peppered down his jaw until agile lips reached his chin, placating a gentle kiss right in the middle. The silence that followed was a question, a plea for confirmation even though it must have been vastly clear from Clover’s writings that he found Qrow immensely attractive, utterly fascinated both by his physique and his personality. A question that Clover desperately wanted to answer, yearned to answer, needed to answer as if his life depended on it - by grabbing a fistful of the vampire’s feathery hair and bringing their lips together until their worlds collided, until their worlds were one. 

The kiss was tentative at first, soft, warm, slightly chapped human lips repeatedly caressing chill, hard, perfect vampire ones. Humming with approval, Qrow wasted no time in responding in kind, kissing the man of science with both firmness and fragility, using his centuries of experience to make Clover’s heart entirely melt under the effect of his expert ministrations. The tip of a warm tongue darted out teasingly, demanding deeper access that his host was only too glad to provide. 

As teal eyes slid shut, overcome by pure bliss, Clover’s tongue mapped the inside of the vampire’s mouth, engaging in an exercise of careful cartography as thorough and detailed as his pencil filled his diary with his scientific discoveries, meticulous to leave no space uncharted. Although Qrow’s deadly fangs had been willfully retracted for the occasion, the sharp tip of the vampiric canines didn’t fail to graze Clover’s wet appendage during its exploration, the tingling sensation only egging him on further. His host must share that mindset, the scientist deduced judging by the delightfully guttural moans that he provoked down Qrow’s throat. 

But even as his heartstrings thrummed with pleasure, the doctor’s lungs called out in protest, prompting him to regretfully, oh so regretfully break the kiss and part from that mouth he already adored.

“I just need to breathe,” he apologised lamely by way of explanation.

“What a shame,” the vampire taunted as he tenderly cupped Clover’s face, not sharing that necessity common to most living beings. 

“So. Enough evidence to draw your conclusions?”

“It was even better than what I could hope for,” he murmured, nuzzling into the crook of the brunette’s neck. “And you? Any hypotheses you could verify or discard?”

“Many hypotheses, but the most certain truth I was able to infer was that I adored it.”

Was it too soon to say Clover adored all of him? Qrow, his Qrow, in his full undead glory. Was it too soon, and did a full other series of hypotheses, all meticulously written down in a list of bullet points in his worn out diary, need to be confirmed before announcing that? The question was as dizzying as it was exhilarating.

“I’d like to try again at some point,” the man of science continued, slightly overwhelmed. “But please let me finish my notes first.”

“I’d understand if it were important, but you’re writing about Twilight!” his host sneered.

“Away with you, bloodsucker,” Clover replied, playfully pushing the vampire away.

“Shaggy pup.”

Long, teasing fingers found their way through his chestnut hair and ruffled it gleefully. 

“You leech.”

“Fluffy doggy.”

* * *

_ December 21st, 1877 _

_ Ruby and Yang came for dinner during the solstice festivities. I had ample conversation with both, of which I shall summarise the notes and mail them to the Royal Society. I trust they will be elated to hear of my latest discoveries. In these parts of Remnant, it appears customary to exchange presents around the time of the winter solstice. Ruby gifted me a beautiful crimson kerchief that Qrow tied around my arm, hiding the scar that formed following the silver spoon incident. Yang brought a new set of cutlery made out of ivory and nickel rather than sterling silver, and I deeply appreciate the thoughtfulness of this present from a werewolf to another. Qrow offered me a golden medallion containing cameos of the three of them, that I sketch below and that will follow me everywhere from this day on.  _

_ To the girls I gifted different volumes I had contributed to in my research, one on vampires for Ruby and one on Vacuan dragons for Yang. To Qrow, I unveiled the hybridised winter rose I had been working on, trying my best attempts to match his eye colour.  _

“The match isn’t too bad,” Yang commented, caressing one of the petals with her fingers.

“I am no expert in horticulture,” the doctor apologised, looking down at his boots. “I wish someone more experienced had tried their hand, they would have obtained far more suitable results.”

“But you’re the first one who tried,” Ruby pointed out. “And you’re the first one who got this far and did this much for our uncle.”

“Really?” he wondered. “Were there no suitors before that you sent his way?”

“Oh, there were,” Qrow intervened. “The bar to clear was just very low. There was another man of science. A Dr. Watts, I believe.”

“Oh, a fellow Atlesian, though I have no news of what he’d become.”

“He hung around the manor with a pistol loaded with holy water bullets and opened my coffin while I slept, with that weapon in hand. I threw him from the top of the belfry.”

“You could say he had… bats in the belfry, that man,” the blonde cut in, eliciting a chorus of chortles. “Too bad he wasn’t a bat himself, to have been able to fly away unharmed.”

“Well, you were the one who chose him, firecracker. You can only blame yourself.”

“Was there anyone else?” Clover wondered. “Any women of science?”

“Unfortunately not,” Qrow replied. “They’re hard to come by in these remote parts of the continent.”

“There was a lady adventurer though,” Ruby reflected. “Lady Cinder Fall.”

“If her name is any indication of her fate...” Yang started.

“Oh no, I didn’t throw her too,” her uncle cut in, petting her golden hair with a teasing hand. “It just didn’t work out. She was way too interested in the manor and how much Lien she would make if she sold it. It didn’t last long between us. She also smelled terrible, like something was burning in the air.”

“But Uncle Clover smells good?” the younger niece prompted, causing heat to pool at Clover’s stomach at the mention of his new title within the family.

“Not as bad, but he does taste awful,” Qrow said without skipping a beat.

“Really, is that so?” the scientist leant in to capture his lover’s lips in a tender kiss.

Before kissing back fervently, the vampire did his best to hide his nieces’ eyes away, allowing the whole world to fade around them as Qrow’s lips became Clover’s lifeline, his anchor and his horizon. Somewhere far, too far in the distance, Ruby wondered why Qrow wouldn’t stop nibbling on Dr. Ebi if he tasted so gross - and maybe she had a point, but neither the vampire nor the were doctor answered.

* * *

_ December 30th, 1877 _

_ Over the last months, I have produced a wide variety of anatomical sketches of Qrow, as well as of his relatives. While a large proportion of these were sent to the Royal Society in Atlas and were met with warm approval from Prof. James Ironwood and our colleagues, some of the sketches I kept for myself to preserve the private identity of Qrow and his family members. Other sketches, I didn’t send for other reasons, including the curious fact that I could stare at Qrow in those poses for eternities on end without ever feeling bored. _

“Hey,” a certain vampire spoke up while modelling, interrupting Clover’s exercise in charcoal drawing. 

“Hey yourself.”

“You have something here,” Qrow gestured to his nose, and the scientist deduced that he must have put some charcoal on his face when pushing his spectacles back up his nose so he could see his artwork more clearly. 

“Oh.” 

Dr. Ebi extracted his kerchief from his pocket, but the vampire’s remarkable speed beat him to it, wiping off the dark substance with the tip of a graceful, pale thumb. The black charcoal made the white-as-moonlight skin stand out in comparison, only enhancing the beauty of Qrow’s complexion in Clover’s eyes. Already a long, pallid index darts out to adjust the glasses that had slid down the doctor’s nose, making sure the brunette didn’t have to dirty his face again doing so. 

“Give me your hand,” Qrow ordered, and who was Clover to refuse?

The vampire carefully wiped off the charcoal on the side of his lover’s palm and strong fingers, before his lips trailed upward of his wrist, his arm, past the crimson arm sash at his bicep, gracing each bulging muscle, lavishing each visible vein. Clover’s breath hitched as kisses danced along his collarbone and up his neck, ending with a soft peck squarely on his lips.

“How… how could you tell that I’ve been wanting you to do this since the first night we met?” the academic murmured after a moment, teal eyes longingly gazing into crimson. 

“I guess I just got lucky.”

“Lucky? And here I thought I was the luckiest werewolf alive,” Clover mused before pulling in his lover for another kiss.

* * *

_ January 10th, 1878 _

_ Qrow ordinarily feeds from the blood of forest creatures, preferably birds, bears, boars, or deers. His preference is not to interact with the inhabitants of nearby villages, fully aware he would be at a disadvantage if he fed off them and they leagued up against him in retaliation. But also, he prefers not to drink the blood of the friends and acquaintances of his nieces, and in small villages, everyone is a friend or an acquaintance, so that limits possibilities considerably. _

_ However, on certain nights, like tonight, he craves human blood, which evidence supports is necessary to support his metabolism on the long term. On those nights, we call a carriage and ride to the big city. There, the underbelly of criminality is such that there are plenty of the worst types of scum that society could truly do without, which constitute Qrow’s primary target for feeding.  _

_ We pretexted to the carriage driver that we were out to the opera - we even purchased two tickets for credibility, but with the buzzing agitation tonight, we most likely won’t ever step into the opera house.  _

A putrid stench of sewers saturated the dark alleyway, but Qrow paid no mind, feasting upon some still kicking and screaming man against the mangled wall while said man’s victim was scampering away, the click of her heels audible against the wet uneven cobblestones. Several seconds would elapse before the anesthetic venom from the vampire’s fangs would produce its effect, but Qrow was grace, strength, certainty, easily subduing his prey without even ruining his perfectly tailored three-piece suit, pristine white shirt and matching bow tie. 

Clover sketched avidly from within the otherwise empty carriage, detailing physiological changes that occurred when vampires fed - dilated irises, open nostrils, fast respiration out of enjoyment rather than necessity… But in his entranced state, Qrow hardly noticed the group of men that erupted into the alleyway, drawn in by their companion’s cries. Armed men, Dr. Ebi’s analytical gaze immediately noted. In the badly lit semi-obscurity, it was hard to guess if they carried any crosses or holy water that could harm vampires, for such creatures of the night weren’t unheard of in these insalubrious parts of town. 

Clover had to do something. He couldn’t tell if these men might hurt Qrow. He had to do something. He couldn’t let these men hurt Qrow. He couldn’t afford to take the risk. Outside the carriage’s window, the full moon smiled down enigmatically. He had to do something. 

He discarded his long coat and pants, sprang out of the carriage, and transformed. 

The deafening werewolf howl that ensued, loud enough to send them flying back a foot or two, scared the handful of men off. Knowing full well they couldn’t contend against both a vampire and a were, the thugs ran away in the darkness, leaving Clover alone with Qrow and his drained victim down the alleyway. 

“Holy hell, Clover… thanks for helping me out,” the vampire called out. “That was a close call… wait, are you shaking?”

Yes, he was, the moonlight glistening onto his trembling fur, but he couldn’t exactly respond in his wolf form, nor could he even shift back. Everything was shaking too much, moving too fast, yet everything was still, too still, leaving him frozen and paralysed…

“Clover… it’s the wolf form, isn’t it? I’ve noticed you don’t like to use it, I should have figured it made you uncomfortable. Yet you’re so powerful like this, both powerful and soft...”

Qrow reached out a hand to caress his lover’s snout, but the canine withdrew sharply, recoiling from the touch. 

“It’s because of the one who turned you, isn’t it?” the vampire suddenly understood.

The first time Clover shifted… Memories of a bite. Of a laugh, a maddened cackle rippling through the night. Of sickly yellow eyes, turning violent violet. 

Slowly, Clover nodded. 

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. You aren’t like the one who turned you. You can control it, I’ve seen you do it, you can use it to do good without letting your wolf instincts control you. I know it’s hard. But I know you can do it. C’mon. Breathe with me.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Soothing as a lulling tide, certain as a cycle of moon phases.

Breathe in, breathe out. It was going to be okay. 

Breathe in, breathe out. It had to be okay. 

Breathe in, breathe out -

“Did you get garlic for dinner, Clover? Seriously??”

“I do have to live up to my nickname of ‘garlic clove’, you know...” the scientist replied, only just registering he’d swapped back to his human form, which also implied he stood naked amongst shreds of clothing amidst the alleyway. “I was just assuming you’d be too busy with drinking blood to want to kiss me tonight...”

“I hate you.”

“Do you? I thought you loved me too much for that.”

Qrow let out an amused huff.

“You’re lucky you’re ridiculously attractive.”

“Especially without garments in a public place?”

“Speaking of which, you should put some clothes on before we get to the opera.”

He walked to the carriage to retrieve his long coat, trousers, and shoes, but paused in his step as a fleeting moon beam highlighted a tendril of blood dripping off the corner of Qrow’s mouth. The doctor’s hand reached out to wipe it, but the vampire stopped him before their faces could move any closer. 

“Nope, no kissing after eating garlic. That’ll teach you, garlic clove.”

“That is absolutely unfair,” Dr. Ebi provided his best pout.

“C’mon. The opera is about to start. We don’t want to be late.”

* * *

_ March 13th, 1878 _

_ It took me weeks to write up all my discoveries and mail them to the Royal Society, but I received a response today from Prof. Ironwood himself. He is satisfied with the new developments and approves of my stay at Qrow’s manor for further research. He has also responded positively to my ever so slightly inappropriate request for a personal favour, which I am extremely grateful for. I had to travel to the village to collect my mail and buy a few more necessities. Upon my return, I found Qrow gone.  _

_ I am not overly worried - it has been raining heavily for the past two days, with no sign of sunlight in sight, and soon it will be nighttime anyway. I can only wonder what Qrow is doing in town, or wherever he decided to go. Taiyang, Yang and Ruby’s father, also sent some packages destined to Qrow and I. He is currently serving as a zoologist on a marine expedition to the Vytal archipelago, he mailed me some sketches and samples from new species he believes to exhibit vampiric behaviour, kindly requesting comments in light of my expertise. It is heartwarming to see that I am more and more accepted as a member of this peculiar family, even though on our brief encounters Raven still looked like she wanted a bite of me _

“Good evening, garlic clove.”

“Sorry Qrow, I didn’t hear you entering.”

The vampire cut an alluring figure cloaked all in black, a matching umbrella in hand that dripped icy puddles onto the marble floors.

“No, I should apologise for making you worry and wait. It took longer than expected to find a jeweler in town that doesn’t only work with silver in town.”

Clover set down his diary in questioning - he didn’t know his lover would take a sudden interest in jewelry, much less in something non-silvery, though perhaps he was attempting to commission something for Yang.

“I did sense a rampant fear of werewolves in the villages around here,” the man of science reflected. “Perhaps that explains why people would scramble to buy silver.”

“That may be due to Tai’s pack having wreaked havoc in the area a few years back. But now Tai’s been travelling at sea for a couple of years, so the werewolf activity around here has since died down. In the end I went to the blacksmith and terrified the living hell out of him… but an apprentice, a certain Miss Nikos, was able to make me what I was searching for.”

“And… what was that?”

Instead of replying, Qrow fumbled for something in his pocket. 

“Dr. Clover Ebi, will you marry me?”

The vampire was on one knee, a beautiful golden ring within his slender fingers. Atop the piece of finely crafted jewelry was a gold crescent moon holding an oval emerald, surrounded by a crown of delicate, identically shaped emeralds and diamonds. It was beautiful, of course it was beautiful, setting Dr. Ebi’s heart aflutter as he wanted to say yes, needed, yearned, would adore to say yes, a million times yes...

If only Clover hadn’t received the package he’d already received earlier in the day...

“Wait…” he stuttered in answer, before noticing the sudden expression of dismay upon his lover’s fair features at his reply, “oh dear, that came out wrong. I just wanted to say that… I got a ring commissioned in Atlas.”

“Does that mean that...” a new glint of hope swirled within Qrow’s fascinating irises.

“Yes it means, Lord Qrow Branwen, will you marry me?”

Clover knelt facing his lover, holding up a ring of his own. The band was rose gold, supporting a crimson rose whose ruby petals blossomed with magnificent symmetry, framed by delicate green leaves cluttered with translucent crystals to symbolise dew condensates in the morning, only less fleeting, more eternal. 

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” the vampire answered, causing Clover’s heart to drop in his chest in confusion, too overwhelmed to even process the torrent of emotions that washed over his mind, his body, his soul. 

But soon Qrow’s words were overtaken by violent fits of laughter that quickly proved contagious. Both of them were breathless with giggles by the time Qrow finally said:

“But I think I may be the luckiest vampire to have ever lived.”

“Does that means yes?”

“Of course, you stupid garlic clove.”

“I hate you,” Clover immediately snapped back at the nickname.

“Do you? I thought you loved me too much for that,” came the reply in a teasing sing-song voice.

“That may very well be true.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not saying there's a sequel in the works, but... there may very well be...? :3


End file.
